An Unwanted Stranger
by Labyrinth-chan
Summary: A wounded stranger exists in your new house.You take care of him. As years passed, both of you are tangled to each other without any promise of commitment.You don't declare what you want from him & so does he, knowing one day he'll leave from your life and never return. During one final make love, he says,"You don't have to wait for me anymore." Too bad, you can't accept it. LawxOC


**An Unwanted Stranger**

**Disclaimer: One Piece is not mine. I'm just a fan. This is a pairing of Trafalgar LawxFemale reader.  
**

* * *

You have just moved into that particular neighbourhood, which is located at the suburbs from the metropolis. Things are getting damn bad lately in your daily life, thus you need a new environment to change the pace and stress relief. You live alone, so even if you have to carry all the heavy stuff by yourself –plus with two workers that help you to deliver your goods– you are not bothered with it. Once your team have put everything in the new house, you pay the said workers and bid goodbye. Though it is nearly night-time, there is enough period to set things up, at the very least you will feel more comfortable to move around in this nice abode.

Just when you enter your own bedroom to arrange your personal items, your eyes widen to the scene in front of you. The one and only double panelled glass window of the chamber has shattered, like something has forcibly hit it from the outside. It is more surprise as you see the thick colour of crimson blood paints the frame, the smashed glass pieces, and a pool of it while you notice a stranger drenches within. It is a man, judging from the appearance whom currently lying on his side with his downward face facing you. You hear several faint groans indicate how painful the figure is feeling. First thing flash in your mind is;

_My poor floor._

As rationality dawn on you, legs rush towards the badly injured guy in a second, hands and eyes quick to check the source of the outflow blood to block it. You have just realised that panic is attacking you as you tremble throughout the motion. Bet you are, all this whole time of your life before, you have never seen such a view on live, if you discount the one in the dramas and movies you have watched numerous times without batting an eyelid that is.

Finally you found the blood cause, it is due to quite large stab trace of his stomach, yet you do not have any proper first aid kit with you. A chain of cursing words will not help you at all, thus you waste no time to call the ambulance instead. As you are about to dial the emergency line numbers, a blood-coated hand restrains your arm with a death grip. With a hoarse voice, the man utters.

"D…don't…"

You retort back with, "Like hell I'm going to listen to you!"

"…Plea…se…"

It is certainly not your weakness to succumb over someone's plead, but as he the stranger wishes to die like this, who are you to stop him? But still…

"What can I do for you, hard-headed? If you want me to bury your dead body, count on me."

The man forlornly chuckles to your sarcasm, in which you wear a deadpan expression by the moment as you do not find it funny. He continues, "Gi…give me a nee…needle and…a th…thread…with…anything that…c…can produce fi…re…"

It may sound he is asking for random stuff, you have a vague idea about what he is going to do with all that things fortunately.

He wants to stitch himself shut.

You are so interested over his bravery, hence you search the objects speedily without an argument among your packed stuffs. Throwing aside anything unnecessary, everything is scattered. Usually you mind, nevertheless you pay no heed for it this time only. After clumsily unpack a few boxes and bags, search here and there, you lastly found them all. A knitting set and a lighter that you do not even know they have existed in your previous household. In addition, you are also bringing over a wet towel and a bucket of hot water –an extra amount from preparing drinks to the workers just now– plus with some pieces of cloth for probes.

Kneeling beside the man, you help him to sit up, his blood stains your hands and outfits along the way. Before he can say a word, you shove him the wet towel, instruct him to clean his wound. Concern get you good, thus you warn him about the incoming infection if he truly wants to travel down this path as an alternative of going to the hospital. When he nods in confidence, you open the knitting set, take the thread and soak it into the hot water for a while. Then, you put aside the damp strand and grab both needle and lighter in each hand of yours. You light it up and have it under the sharp spine, letting it become searing for sterilisation. The end of thread is guided through the small hole of the hot needle and you tie it up.

Once they have been done and ready, you watch his impresses expression on his face as you give the items to him. You cannot help but smirk in return. He takes the needle from you, starts to stitch his bare stomach. You can see the wound now that he has discarded his bloody shirt. Its area is not long, but probably kind of deep. The blood keeps flowing out from the open skin little by little though, so you try your best to clean it back and block it while he is stitching. At first, you cringe when he is unable to contain the pain grunt from escaping his mouth.

Almost an hour and a quarter past, the self-sewing is completed somehow. The guy's shaky hand put away the contaminate needle and let out a number of heavy breathes, as if he has been holding his lungful during the activity. You are still cleaning the blood tinge on his body parts and around him, and also on your unfortunate floor.

"Sor…ry…" He weakly speaks to you. You raise your head to look at him and take in his feature. Both ears are decorated with piercings, charcoal dishevel locks, shrill grey eyes with dark linings under them, a tad scrawny body, unknown tattoos plaster on his arms and torso, and also…handsome?

Yeah.

"You need a shower."

He shake his head, but his condition signals otherwise. Force is the only way not to cater on his whim, with all your strength, you pull him into the nearest bathroom. The stranger refuses you so much that you have to yell at him like a mother. He is shocked to your unpredicted outburst and responsively falls in silence. Your effort pay off as he steps into the bathroom reluctantly with you and you close the door.

You are aware that he cannot balance himself yet to stand too long, so you make him sit down on the floor at the corner of the bathroom while you start filling the bathtub. You raise the temperature a bit, soon the whole area is clouded by steam.

"It's gonna be freaking pain. Think you can bear with it?"

"Ah." There is an attractiveness when he gazes at you, that glistening silver irises catch yours in a tight lock while he put away his pants and cover himself with a mini towel provided. You awkwardly massage at the back of your neck a couple of times before aid him to sit into the bathtub. A faint hiss and moan from the guy vibrate in the air as the warm water splashes onto his wounded body. Wrinkles begin to form on his forehead, and upon seeing it, you cannot restrain yourself from kissing the spot to cease such countenance.

Realisation strikes you like a thunderbolt, _I'm doomed_, you think. It is getting worse when you watch the man's eyes amplify to the gesture. Both of you do not bother to utter a word, thus you act apathetic over it and continue to carry on your task at hand, assist him to wash his body where he cannot does it all by his own. Every minute of muteness get you pretty prickly, your brain decides to urge you to start a conversation. Any topic, any issue.

"Mind to tell me your name? I don't know how to address you."

He calmly replies to you, "Shouldn't you state yours first? It's an unspoken rule when you're asking other's name."

You are almost bang your head onto the ceramic bathtub over your slack manner. "Uh, right. My bad, really." You tell him your name, loud and clear, so that he must forever remembers the big-hearted, prettiest, tolerant, charitable person that spends her time to save his sorry ass in her new-bought house on the very first day of her transfers.

Then, the stranger says, "Trafalgar Law."

"Trafalgar? Your ancestors sure love that Russian building and law…"

Your words accidentally offends him as he glares a dagger at you, but later becomes soften when you spontaneously continue, "…I like that. It has a cool ring to it, or something. Don't you think? Shall I call you Law-chan?"

A comical sweat drops along his face side. "Anything but those."

"Lawsy?" …He shakes his head in objection.

"Torao?" …He protests it with a grunt.

"Trafal-guy?" …The grunt turns brasher.

"Tiger–"

"Tch. Stop it. This is not some sort of contest. Just Law is enough."

Ear to ear smile curves on your mouth, before you know it, you are analysing this man's personality. It is confirms that a banter with him is quite fun. He is not a talkative one, thus most of the times you have to converse into a chat first rather than waiting over hundred years for him to do so. Wait, is there any next time for it after this? He perhaps will leave from here as he gets better, nope, maybe earlier than that. Right after the bath? You do not know, and your heart ache to hold him in here, not in the bathroom specifically, but in this house, together with you.

If there is such an extreme risk for him out there in which endangers him the same as this moment in the future, cannot he live here? Leads a normal life like you are having? Well, not in exact present day as this is turning you upside down since he appears, yet…

You inspect his body from his back. He is tanned, still you can make out the various scars decorate his form all over, they seem to shed light on abuse activities done to him. Anyway, a scrawny guy like him can have a nice build. The six pectorals are visible nonetheless. An impressive amount of anonymous tattoos on his torso and arms you have seen them previously may give the impression of a delinquent or a gangster, somehow you love all the symbols, especially the unique Jolly Roger and the odd, beautiful heart-shape ones. Except that another weird crossed-smiley Jolly Roger at the middle of his rear, it is smaller than the others though. As if he is…branded.

A slave? In this modern day and age? Never meet any. However, because it IS in modern day and age, anything is conceivable, which is scary for some reason.

"Like what you see? Do I pass your scrutiny?"

Blood pumps in speed to your face as a sign of embarassment, damn, cannot your enigmatic attitude be more obvious than that? Not planning on hiding your thoughts, your fingers touch the strange mark on his scar-skin. The brand-looking one. He jolts a little to the sudden sensation but he let it by the way.

You declare, "I hate this symbol. Don't you wanna remove it?"

He chuckles indistinctly, "I wish I could."

There are two basic whys and wherefores of his answer, you guess. First, he does not know how to completely eliminate it. Tattoo is not a pencil drawing able to be erased in less than a minute. Second, he is being threatened till at this instant.

"Can I say, this mark is what has been hurting you? In every way?"

Law is enthralled. "You're so sharp, miss. Why? Are you sympathising me?"

"I can't?" You absentmindedly enquire back with a confuse look. Sometimes, honesty can kill you, although now to hell with that. He holds his sight towards you as he moves a bit, causing the water ripples like a sea waves.

"I'd rather to be comforted in other way."

Ah…Dear you, nothing comes to mind when he speaks like that.

The statement haunts you overpoweringly after he has finished his bath, after he has changed into your ex-boyfriend's old clothes which apt to his figure perfectly, after a simple suppers for both of you, and after he has pinned you on your unarranged bed in another room. Does he wants to do it with you? But he is freaking injured. The pain he feels perchance makes him lost his mind, you presume.

With half-lidded eyes, Law whispers to you, "No resistance?"

Okay, so how will you riposte? Maybe like… "That's for you to answer, wounded Law…chan." Add a playful sneer to emphasise. By then, his face plasters per touchiness over the nickname.

As you laugh, he slowly comes close to you, and catches your lips in cautious. To think that he might be more eager… You reply to his kiss, carefully testing his skill but not to the point of being led on. He realises what you are doing, so he let out his tongue and licks gradually along your soft lips. Sensitive nerves in such area of yours are almost giving in, nevertheless you lose to your sensual sigh once he bites indulgently the bottom part of the appendage. He takes advantage of your slight part mouth, shoves his naughty tongue into your warm cavern.

Whimper is all you manage to come out, having his tiny limb prods and tastes everything he can find inside of you. You moan as he slurps your tongue, licks and battles with it that fruitfully draw several whines from you. Shitty good kisser. After abusing your swollen lips, he resumes to kiss other parts of your body downward while put away your clothes bit by bit. You can feel his saliva trails everywhere, it becomes sticky when it dries.

For the whole cold night, he make love to you, amazingly too gentle for a troublesome guy like him. You are always being rewarded with a passionate kiss from him for each move, prioritising your pleasure than his own, and he outlandishly undertones you some romantic words beyond your imagination. What is this? It is too good to be a one-night stand only. He will never come back. As you think that way, your tears pour down without your consent.

Well, fate is a funny thing.

Law does exits your house in the next morning, no farewell exchange indeed. What stuns you is the accustom person stands in front of you at the entrance door later that midnight. Just when you want to greet him, he will ghostly touch your lips, presses them along the lines in tender dawdling before he properly kisses you.

Trafalgar Law returns to you, and no way in hell you are going to admit that it makes you awfully happy. Ever since then, he will sleepover and leave and come again, alternately one in a few days. Whereas, you lead your so-called normal life as usual, attending your work, meeting your friends, no new boyfriend though, shopping, and so on. Sometimes he comes during daylight, most of them are during at night. Nothing much you guys do together, it is not something as simple as a love game or a lovey-dovey couple alike. You both meet and go with the flow. Eat, sensual desire, date, whatever. That is all.

He does not tell you what his real job is, where does he live, how he ends up injured and reeks of blood each time you see one another…You slip such questions off, not that you care a lot about it. One point for sure, he has a risky lifestyle. Undoubtedly an underground matter. If that is the case, you may wish to prepare yourself for losing him once and for all in any passing day.

The same pattern happens over and over, as the time goes uncaringly, it has been for five years.

One day, he visits you typically. From the gaze of his smoky eyes, you can pretty much guesstimate he wants to hold you, take you on that particular nightfall. It is a different kind. The intense pleasure and lust are dissimilar during the make love than previous moments. Like a wild guy, Law fucks you hard to the core for the beginning, as you come so many times, he changes his pace in the end, embraces you mildly. It is not a wishful thinking, but you sense how loved you are being by him that night. The way he caresses you, pecks you, and treats you…Resembling a precious treasure.

"I'm going to clean off my hands."

You glance at him beside you due to the unforeseen announcement. "Really?"

He nods lightly to your disbelieve. "I've this prevalent task, they agree to let me go if I clear the mess up alone."

"Oh. Lucky, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he scoffs, "I can't believe it myself too." Once he says that, he picks up his crumple attires on the floor next to bed and wears them, getting ready to leave the house.

"When?" You ask because you can feel it, the time has come, it is damn close.

"Soon."

"I'll make a death dinner for you."

He chuckles to your dry joke. "Hahaha don't call it 'death'. It kills the appetite."

Law put a chaste nip on your cheek and gets off from the bed. Before he reaches to the door, he watches you over his shoulder and utters, "You don't have to wait for me anymore."

Your mouth is zipped when he speaks with an earnest smile you have never seen for years.

"Just follow down your own road."

"…No worries. I always do that, aren't I?"

His smile deviates into an approval type, the last smile he gives to you. He walks towards the door and opens it. You observe he pauses for a while, contemplating. Then, he shuts it without looking back. A heavy quietness loom around the bedroom. You try to brush over your hair, it is at the moment that you become conscious of your trembling hand and body. They are shuddering in sadness and fear, to the thought of Law will never return to you. You giggle in forlorn, as you think you are almighty prepared for such outcome.

You are mistaken.

* * *

A whole abandoned building is full with variety of noises. People's agonising screams, gunshots, panics, dead bodies and bloods splatter every inch of space. A faded sound of sword slash blends in the midst of the chaos, only belongs to a certain man's sharp demon blade.

It is an unabridged bloodbath.

Presently, you are at the second level from the top building, several hours right after Law left your humble abode, fighting with numerous enemies that are attacking you. Of course they are, you abruptly just appear at the rooftop –you do some climbing, logically– and kill them one by one with a stolen firearm in your hand. Arrow practices during high school is very convenient and useful at a time like this, your aims are incredulously accurate and right on target in which you yourself are startled by your hidden skill. Although, you cannot evade the cerise body fluid from stains you all over and a few bruises and gun grazes.

As you shoot them while running to the next level downwardly, you finally found him. An echo of sword lacerations are heard at the middle of storey, Law is still fighting from afar. _It's Kikoku, Law's nodachi blade_, your heart beat loudly upon the revelation.

Some moments during your own fight, you catch a glance of Law falls down and kneeling while his nodachi clanks on the concrete ground. He has been shot. It is very careless of him, then again to be expected, after raiding the entire four floors of enemy's hideout alone with nothing but a long sword without a single rest and a backup. It is miracle that he manages to come this far. To his misfortune, one of the bastards is standing sluggishly in his front view with a shitty revolver in palm. Too fast for Law to avoid it in his current state, thus he seems to accept his fate based on his calm expression. Maybe a little bit regret adds in.

A solitary gunfire booms throughout the air.

Law's eyes widen to the guy in his sight, he has been shot at the back of his head throughout the forehead. The filthy blood spurts from the blow spot when the guy's immobile body drops onto the floor with a flashy thump. It is then Law notices you. He knows you are the one who kill the gangster just now, looking at you as you are huffing tiredly with your dangerous weapon at side. Not only that, he gasps upon witnessing the rest of the enemies are already dead, scatter far and wide including the stairs. Which means, you have finished them off at the upper levels.

You make your way ahead, getting near to him. Trying to read his countenance and murmurs, you understand what he has in his confuse brain. He may want to know from you that;

_How did you know where I am?_

_How did you get here?_

_Did I make your hand contaminate by killing these guys?_

_Why were you coming at this place?_

You crouch down, kneel, and hug him with chariness. You tell him, "I've come to pick you up." He has lost his energy to ask all that and his nerves are too numb to reciprocate to your clasp, so he nuzzles into your soft hair and the crook of your neck. From there, you decide to be honest with the speechless man.

"I can majorly speculate this is sort of world you live in. I'm being so much prepared for the day that you will get out of my life and never come back…But…" You take a breather, and close your eyes whereas grit your teeth, "It's only natural that I truly hate this at all…"

A relief outbreath from him tad tickles you, looks like he cannot hide his genuine feeling any longer as well.

"Know what…I should've take that death dinner."

You chuckle to his words and retort, "I've cooked it at home."

"So…going home it is then?"

"Going home it is, Law-chan…"

Mustering all his leftover strength within him, Law's hands quiver to enfold you, tightening the embrace. You still yourself from pounding on him, his injury is graved anyhow. Deep inside your heart, you have acknowledged it in these five years. What both of you have wanted all this time is to be by each other's side. As thing goes hushed, you listen attentively to his mumbling,

"…I got to see you…"

* * *

**AN: I really recommend you guys to read this ZoroxSanji doujinshi manga by ROM-13 (Nari), "Unwanted", translate and scan by futarikiri and Caelimane respectively. More or less i write this story rooted from that but this is way different. Her manga is more fascinating. I want to do the writing version of the manga but i don't have enough skill to explain it beautifully thus i make my own setting. You can find it here: **

**_*normal URL header* community *dot* livejournal *dot* com *slash* futari_kiri *slash*_. **

**Or just google it as usual. Thanks for reading, viewing, reviewing and all :)  
For my Taking Care of You & CLICK! readers and followers, please bear with me again X( I'm sorryyyyyyy (T-T) I've a writer's block...  
**


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